North, for the Lighthouse
by James Rylee 18
Summary: Outside the colors of morning had overtaken the city and the bus was driving farther west, towards the ocean. Then north, for the lighthouse. Very little was said between them as the hours drifted by, but this was not a bad thing. Knowing someone as well as they knew each other made it easy for silence to make its way into the space between them. EDITED
1. Chapter 1

Home was a lost and wayward place, it was fragmented and breakable and changeable. It was the way his mother ruffled his hair, or the way his father stirred sugar into his coffee with his finger only, no matter how hot, and sucked the sweet away from his skin when it was done. Home was where his heart was, where his family sat around a low wooden table, talking in their soft voices. Home was the kitchen with Grandma, slicing watermelon, and grandpa groaning. Home was a baseball field.

It had been years since he had played baseball here, he realized. With his pack on his shoulders and his blue cap set comfortably on his head, he turned away from old Gerald Field and walked home. To _a_ home, at least. It was one he had never been to since the boarding house was now closed. When that happened, his grandpa had moved himself and grandma into a comfortable apartment a few blocks east of the field itself. When he came to the old brick building Phil Shortman had chosen, he found himself smiling, the place his grandpa had chosen to live was enough like Sunset Arms to feel comforting to find. Not that he needed comfort, but there was something about the familiarity of it all, in the dark morning that put him at near perfect ease.

He had time to spare, but wanted a place to put down his heavy bag. Thankfully a set of keys had arrived in the mail for him in San Lorenzo, giving him the option now of shuffling through the lobby of the apartment building to his grandparents first-level apartment. A quick drop off just at the front door and he was back on the streets again, pleased with the ever-familiar chill of the city near dawn.

There were a select number of dwellers there, who didn't mark Arnold as anything out of the ordinary. This was both a relief and a mild heart break; it had been so long since he was home. His skin had tanned deeply, his yellow hair lightened. His once mild body had grown and he was as robustly built as his father was. His style hadn't much changed. He still had an affinity for plaid and the color blue. His shirt today was a blue plaid button up,

He parked himself on a bus bench to observe everything in his free time. He saw a skinny woman with a broken umbrella scuttling across the street, a construction worker with a mug of coffee in his hand, a teen in black with shaggy hair and chalky skin, looking morose and tired. He was exchanging an awkward smile with a passing elderly woman when he noticed someone pause a few feet away from the stop.

He looked briefly but leapt to his feet the next second because the young woman looking back at him, slack-jawed and pale, was the one person he was most anxious to see again.

She was a very tiny woman, having grown very little since he had last seen her and she had not been very tall to begin with. Her once boney body was still thin but she had filled in relatively well, enough so her body was reminiscent of that beautiful elder sister whose image floated in every male mind of Mr. Simmons class. Arnold was taken aback by this younger sister, who was now a strange reflection of the elementary bully who had once kissed him. Well, more than once. She stared at him from under a set of jet-black eyebrows, the single brow from her childhood face missing. In place was a blank space where permanent frown lines were already developing.

She was wearing a large brown coat that mostly covered the pale pink dress she was wearing. Her hair, tamed in a bun near the top of her head, was missing that pretty pink bow. That was the one fact that made him hesitate, because her hair void of the bow was like him missing his hat; she was not herself without it. He couldn't remember a time when it was missing. Before any lasting ache could set in a permanent way in his gut he caught sight of the pink of her rubber band that held her hair up. The color alone was pleasing.

"Helga?

Her grip on the bag slung across her body tightened and her nervous face startled. The expression softened then and she cocked her head to the side.

Her smile was unexpected and sad.

"Hey Arnold."

Under her eyes the violet bags were illuminated by the lights of the upcoming four a.m. bus. The glow set her awash in uncomely yellow shine which made her ugly and revealed to Arnold the chilly pallor of her skin. She looked sick and tired. He spotted her knuckles, bright red and bruised and bandaged in some places.

The bus came to a screeching halt and the doors swung open with a sluggish whimper. Helga moved quietly, her walk still like the gangly gait of her childhood. She paused briefly beside him.

"Bye." She almost whispered, her eyes hidden by her shadowed lids.

"Wait…" He followed her to the end of the sidewalk, where he stood, one awkward hand outstretched and gazed up at her.

She glanced at the bus driver, who returned her look with cool indifference.

"Where are you going?" Arnold's voice broke through the woman's nerves.

"Come with me." She said, surprised by her boldness, but feeling in her gut that this was the best thing to say. It showed on her face in a messy metamorphosis of shifting looks, from happy to confused, to mute guilt and fear.

It was no surprise to Arnold that he found himself taking her hand and then the steps to the bus had passed under his feet and it was though he had always intended to join her. She paid for his ride and in the nearly empty bus they took a middle seat, their hands clasped tightly.

She tried to be quiet when she left the bed that morning, moving as silently as she could manage. The man in the bed beside her did not stir and she was able to slip into the bathroom without pause. Once there she gave herself a good, hard look in the mirror. The blue eyes had purplish bags underneath them, the thick black brows were mussed, her lips were pale and puffy from sleep and her hair was a tangled web of tawny curls. She chewed her lip and her reflection mimicked her. In her few moments of alone time she took to combing her hair and trying to tame her wild brows. She smiled with the memory of a time when she didn't quite care if her face wasn't up to par, uni-brow and all, she had once been pleased to leave for school looking just as she did when she woke up.

It was different now.

Now, she spent an hour everyday preparing for her day. It was a tortuous routine, one which involved plucking the hairs that grew between her brows three times a week, and required a heavy bag of make up to enhance features she probably could care less about. She knew it was hardly worth it, Jimmy probably didn't give two shits about whether she looked pretty, what mattered was the inheritance of a Beeper Empire. So, if Helga G. Pataki had a funky uni-brow, untamable hair and a bulbous nose, it wouldn't make a difference.

But it was routine anyway. She felt like she owed him. Owed him because no other boy had ever asked her out before, not really, and he had taken her to prom and visited her in college and when she could no longer afford college, it was Jimmy who drove four and a half hours to pick her up and take her home. It was Jimmy who had taken her in when Miriam had died, one year after her dreams of college were squandered. She had been nineteen, working for her father as a half-price janitor for his company store. She wasn't pretty enough to be a saleswoman.

Jimmy had taken her in the night of the funeral, let her sleep in his bed and use his bathroom and kitchen. But the smell of it had taken months to leave her, the flowers and the alcohol. Maybe she had imagined it, but when she stood next to her mother's casket a pale cloud breathed free of the wooden confines and sank into Helga's own body. Tears everywhere and clutching her nose with both hands, she had to be led screaming from the service, where Jimmy found her outside of the funeral home hyperventilating. Without a word, he took her hand and led her to his car.

In exchange for it all she did this: plastered and plucked her flesh, straightened and tied back her strange hair and smiled every day. She was sure premature smile-lines were already appearing on her face. It lasted all day, even if one of her front teeth had a calcium stain, she could no longer seem to turn it off. She smiled at everything and everyone: at Bob when they passed each other in the Beeper Emporium, at the mop and bucket she used, at Jimmy across the table every night, at the T.V. and the laundry basket. She smiled when Phoebe called her from grad school, when the now-married Lila bumped into her at the super market, swollen with a baby and flashing her ever-so-expensive ring, when Gerald happened to be on the same bus as her late-night return bus every Sunday, because he was visiting his dad in the special home where he sent him. It was nice to talk to him then and sometimes they would get a bite to eat together.

She smiled when she went to write, but this was the only genuine smile. It was the kind, warm smile that softened her features and was void of any malice or tension. It was as rare as her true laughter.

It was a writing day that morning; a dark Sunday where she could slip out of the apartment and make a run for the bus stop. Once she had made herself up and dressed in the clothes she had set aside in the bathroom the night before, she snuck out of the quiet home. On the street were a handful of silent folk, it was too early for the Church crowd to even be awake, much less out, so the city was in a gentle hush.

Helga adjusted her bag over her shoulder and felt for the bump of her notebook. Content with its presence she started the three-block walk through the shimmery cool morning to the bus stop. Unaware of what may be waiting for her there.

It was unbelievable, the feeling of holding Arnold's hand. He was so changed, so much grown up. But it was still the boy with the cornflower hair. She looked back across her morning with an eye of shame, wishing she had done things different, done something prettier with her broomstick hair, and worn better makeup to hide the sleep sitting under her eyes. She wished that lipstick had found its way to her thin mouth; she wished she had taken her time shaving her legs, which now felt like a pair of cacti.

One kind look from Arnold and her thoughts stopped dead in their anxious tracks and she fell into the comforting pools of his eyes, clear and warm.

"Where are we going?" He asked.

"The lighthouse."

He smiled, but she knew he didn't know where that was.

"You'll like it, I think." She squeezed his hand softly. He returned the touch by squeezing back. She winced a little and he frowned.

"What happened?" He turned her hand in his to look. Close up he could see her skin was torn and scabbed and darkened by bruising.

"Uhm." She frowned a little. "Nothing really. I fell." She couldn't make eye contact with him and twisted her hand to hold his again.

"How was San Lorenzo?"

"Very warm." He couldn't help but smile at the memories, even with Helga's injury scratching his heart angrily. "How has home been?"

"Okay."

"Why are you back here? Gerald said you were at school?"

Helga didn't respond for a moment, thanking Gerald in her head for keeping his trap shut about her.

"I was, but I decided to drop out."

He was quiet.

The bus rumbled on through the growing light of the morning.

"You ever go to school?" She asked, when the silence became too much for her.

"I did a little, but it was a different world there… I got bored."

"I bet." She chuckled gently.

"Where are you now?"

"Working for Bob. I live with—…"

She cut herself off, because the truth was an answer she didn't want him to hear. So her voice just stopped while her heart thumped painfully in her throat.

"Helga,' He spoke after a tedious silence. "It's just Arnold. You don't need to hide things."

"You never met Jimmy." Her voice was low.

"Gerald told me about him." Arnold was a breath away from interrupting her. He had heard enough about Jimmy on the phone calls.

"We have an apartment not far from the emporium." She said.

Outside the colors of morning had overtaken the city and the bus was driving farther west, towards the ocean. Then north, for the lighthouse. Very little was said between them as the hours drifted by, but this was not a bad thing. Knowing someone as well as they knew each other made it easy for silence to make its way into the space between them.

"We're almost there." She spoke so suddenly she sent Arnold back in his seat. He had been drawing circles on her palm with his finger.

"Are you going to marry Jimmy?"

"Arnold..." The bus jerked and stilled. It had driven them to a quiet beach, the one where Helga had been when Miriam had died. She got the news late that night, smelling of sand and salt. "We haven't seen each other since we were kids, you and I…"

"I missed you." He sighed. "You never wrote." He was trying very hard to not sound accusatory, but the hurt as coming out in his voice, a bitter pang.

Helga had difficulty making her feet work and fumbled as they climbed off the bus. She tripped on the stair and was caught by Arnold, his arm slung around her waist to save her. They each flushed a little before looking away, and he took his arm back carefully.

The beach wasn't small. It was home in fact to a few beach houses that families purchased for summer time living. Now that autumn was nipping at their heels, the beach was abandoned, so the houses sat in tidy rows like a crowd of squatting children, dusty and sad looking. The water was a warm jade color and calm.

Arnold scanned the horizon ahead as Helga led him north through the sand.

"Where's the lighthouse?" He asked

She let go of his hand to reach up and guide his face to look with her hands. He tried to focus on where she was directing him to look, but the feeling of her small hands on his cheeks was like a dream he had been too nervous to wish for.

But he spotted it, behind some dunes and rippling foliage. It was a white, thin rhombus, with a blue-black cap on top.

"There it is." Her hands fell away. Their absence made Arnold uncomfortable. He reached for one to hold and this alleviated all discomfort

"Let's go then." He said and tried to grant her a genuine smile.

Her cheeks turned a rosy shade and she led him down the sea-side.


	2. Chapter 2

" _What do you want, football head?"_

" _Helga, we need to talk."_

" _Why would I want to talk to you-"_

" _Please, Helga, just listen. I have to tell everybody…"_

It had been the first time that she seemed soft, a fraction of who she usually was and no longer the hard hearted Pataki girl. Her face, in its pre-pubescent youth and roundness rarely held such a mournful expression, but it did then. The clear eyes, with which there was a constant icy fire dimmed so they were blurry and drowning in sudden tears. Her features went limp, so her mouth hung open just enough for her hurried breath to be delivered in and out at the speed of her growing upset.

" _Why would I care if you were moving? I'm not some sap who cries over that. Go, then."_

She had said it all in a rush, the anger in her voice collapsing with every word. By the end of her short speech she had dissolved into true tears and put her face in her hands. Arnold had reached out to touch her shoulder, hoping to comfort her. But he had drawn his hand back suddenly and took her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth.

Hindsight made that moment seem a little forced perhaps, because it felt like he had used her. As they drew nearer to the lighthouse, which was slowly becoming more detailed as they walked across the long beach, Arnold felt like he was doing that again. It was as though the greatest of his comforts was there, but the boundaries between them were still in place, the constant and rigid walls that had always kept them apart, so by seeking the joy from her he was causing her harm. He was unsure now how to get past these walls. The first was the number of years that stood between them, in which time they had each grown and changed tremendously, as he could find evident in himself and see clearly in this soft, quiet Helga. How could there be an assurance that, if they turned and kissed each other, there would be a healthy life before them? Could he deduce their chances now? Could he love the girl who was Helga, but no longer Helga? Or more importantly, could she love him? He, who had left her in her lonely world and never had the gumption to write her a letter?

"You said earlier that I never wrote." Helga said softly. "But I did."

He looked at her with the feeling of shame, but she was wearing the same guilt on her face. After a moment where the only sound was the quiet crunch and slurp of the sand under their shoes, she whispered, "I never sent them."

So, somewhere under the bed she shared with Jimmy, or in her closet, or in a dump near the city, were years of Helga's words to Arnold that she had never sent to him. Somewhere, at this very moment, were days of reading he had never had the chance to read, and would probably never be able to read. This knowledge left a dreadful sinking feeling in his stomach.

Helga was quivering slightly in embarrassment at this reveal and she was glad that he didn't press her further.

"I could never get myself to write to you." He said.

She let the hurt settle before filing it away to be upset about later, because the lighthouse was upon them.

"What's so special about this lighthouse?" He asked tentatively.

She smiled brightly, and in the sunshine of the day Arnold thought that there had never been anything more lovely than that smile.

"When my mother died her elder brother came to the funeral," She explained. "He said he had a piece of property by the sea side that he knew Miriam had always wanted, a useless lighthouse." She extended her arm to display it.

"So, it's yours then."

"Technically, it belongs to Olga, but I convinced her that I loved it too much for her to sell it. So she let me have it, sort of." She stopped walking to look at him. "There is something special inside."

Arnold smiled in response, but when they came upon the lighthouse door, which was locked with a heavy padlock, his smile turned to a look of wonder. She took a set of keys from her pocket and undid the pad, then the actual door's lock until the black wood was pushed open and Arnold could see nothing but darkness coming from within.

She reached for his hand and led him into the dark building. Once they were both inside she let go of him and closed the door, so they were submerged in total darkness. When she did not return immediately to him he called out her name.

"Hang on, football head." There was happiness in her voice. "I'm getting the light."

"Oh my god, _football head_." He grumbled happily.

"Don't worry, you've grown into it." There was a scratching sound and then light made Arnold's vision a little blurry. When it cleared he could see a great twisting staircase on the perimeter of the walls, going up and up until he could not see detail. The light was coming from endless strings of white Christmas lights, which were wrapped around the iron railing of the stairs. Their glow was soft, but bright enough to illuminate the walls that were covered in hundreds and hundreds of pictures, and papers, drawings and canvases. He stepped into the center of the room to look and was overwhelmed. High school portraits of all of his childhood friends were hung on the back of the door, ordered alphabetically, so it looked like an enlarged yearbook page. To the left of this was a wall of what looked like various articles of clothing, all hung on hooks. Next, he saw a giant framed mirror, which was covered in lipstick drawings and lists of names, and signed with _Rhonda_ next to a lipstick heart. When he turned to look at the wall that followed the staircase he saw that it was covered by a long piece of paper on which there was hundreds of poems, all written in the same cursive handwriting, with varying color inks. Around the poems were small doodles and taped up photos of the group as they grew up.

"What is this place?" Arnold said.

"We all came here after Lila's wedding," Helga said. "We took apart scrapbooks, wrote stories down that we could remember. I don't really know how it happened. I had copies of the keys made and so, we all come now and again to add to the collection." She walked over to the stairs and took three steps up.

"How high does it go up?" He followed her and touched her back absentmindedly.

"All the way."

He followed her as she led him up the stairs, pointing out pictures and drawings, saying who drew them or what was happening in the photos. The further up they got, the more current everything became, until they were halfway to the top and a small collection of pictures from Gerald and Phoebe's wedding were taped up in a neat square. Helga herself was featured in one of the pictures in a blue bridesmaid dress.

"You look nice." Arnold said.

"I got so drunk that night that I don't even remember the reception. I still owe Phebes for the sloppy speech I made."

"I owe Gerald for not going."

"Jamie was his best man, I don't think he minded too much."

"I missed a lot…" He perused the walls. "Clearly."

Intermixed among the photos of familiar faces Arnold began to spy pictures of Helga with a tan, brown-haired boy. He was Helga's prom date a few steps below and reappeared as her date at Lila's wedding, looking older, and prouder.

"Is that Jimmy?" He asked.

Helga fidgeted at his side, which was confirmation enough. Arnold looked at the picture a little harder, and deduced that Jimmy was too thin and unattractive.

"How long have you been together?" His voice was very low.

"We've never been officially together. He was just always there when I needed him." She said. "When I had nothing he took me in."

Arnold came upon a recent photo of the strange couple, one where her hair was down, long and wavy, covering half of her face. The picture was so recent that her hands and knuckles were still injured.

"What really happened to your hands?" He turned away from the wall of memories that weren't his and looked at the young woman beside him.

His eyes were hidden under half-open lids and mascara-coated lashes.

"I was upset with myself." She said and her face flooded red.

It had been a week ago, when the smiles were becoming nauseating and she starting punching. The wall in the bathroom had a strange crack in it, a half circle, turned up like a crooked grin. With every punch on the wall the smile cracked and broke, so the fake bliss crumbled and landed on the dusty floor in bloodied pieces of drywall. Jimmy came home late that night and found her in a little bleeding heap on the floor among the rubble she had made.

"What did you do baby?" Arnold moaned, taking her hands and bringing them up to his lips. They smelled of Neosporin and her hair, the residue of her shampoo.

"I couldn't handle it. Stress really." She tried to shake her hands free. "The best part is at the top."

He followed her up the final circle of steps to the door at the top of the lighthouse. She opened it and sunlight danced across her face, so she glowed dreamily.

Inside he had to take a step up, because the floor of the room with walls made of glass, was covered in almost its entirety by a king sized mattress. Above them, where the ceiling was a small rotunda, there hung a wire mobile of papers, covered in tiny cursive writing. The headings of every page read _Dear Arnold_.

Helga sat down and snatched one of the many pillows scattered about the room. Arnold lay down next to her and reclaimed his hand.

"Are those yours?" He gestured to the letters.

"Yeah, I made that and hung it up here. They aren't signed, so I think everyone thinks Lila wrote them." He doubted that; everyone knew Helga's handwriting.

"Why is there a mattress up here?" The lighthouse was made inoperable because of this set up.

"In case someone needs to sleep here. We all slept on the floor together the first night. All of the lights and stuff was already gone. I think this place was going to be remodeled." She said. "We took this here so there would be a place to sleep for anyone who visited."

He sighed comfortably. "I like it."

"Dear Arnold," She said. "I want to admit something to you. Helga."

He waited a moment before answering. "Dear Helga, tell me anything… Arnold."

"Dear Arnold," she whispered as she rolled onto all fours and peered down at him. She leaned down and kissed him gently on the mouth. "Love, Helga."

Before she could scurry back in embarrassment Arnold took her face in his hands and pulled her back, returning the childlike kiss with a much deeper touch. She may have squirmed at first, nervous, before settling into his kiss with ease. He drew her up against him so they were parallel lines, breaking the rules by clinging, crushing each other, a tangle of briars woven together. She kissed like she was starved, her mouth pressing into his fiercely and her tongue rolling over and around his delicately, but urgently.

They came apart unwillingly to breathe, Arnold's hands still holding her face.

"Dear Helga," He gasped, brushing hair from her face. "I love you. Love Arnold."

She collapsed on him, this time to bury her face in his neck and embrace him. All things went still and silent, save for twin heartbeats thumping in awkward harmony against each other.

Arnold kissed the top of her head. Helga's body suddenly pressed itself hard up against him. He made a sound at the back of his throat. Helga sat up so she was perched on his stomach, knees touching the sides of his ribs. Her coat slid off slowly and she tossed it away. When her hands settled on the ends of her dress Arnold hesitated.

"Helga… What about Jimmy…" She put her finger over his mouth, then sitting up straight she pulled her dress up and off, like peeling a pink petal away from the center of a flower. The dress fluttered to the ground.

It was around three o'clock when hunger woke them. Helga had a few crackers in her purse that she had filched from a restaurant, so they shared them together while they lay naked under a warm blanket.

"Helga," He said through a haze of hunger and drowsiness. "We need to talk about what just happened."

"Do you need me to spell it out, football head? We had sex." She nuzzled him and took a nibble of cracker.

"I understand that part, baby, but-"

"Please don't say it now. I get it, okay?" One-time deal." She chewed her lip bitterly and rolled away from him. She was crushed that he hadn't even waited a day to tell her the undeniable. He would leave again. And she would return to the ceaseless smiles, the endless days, empty eyes and cold touches. Tears sprouted in her eyes and she rubbed them hard.

"Won't you ever listen to what people are saying to you?" Arnold laughed. He wrapped his arm around her and drew her back to him so they were close again, their warmth sinking back and forth between them,.

"You didn't let me say I wasn't going to let you go." He whispered into her ear.

Helga couldn't speak, her heart drumming at a slowly quickening beat. He rolled her onto her back and hovered above her. Her body felt small below him.

"Let's get married." He kissed her again.

Unlike herself, Helga began to laugh.

"What?" He was growing nervous. What had he just said?

"Okay." Her laughter ebbed.

He smiled uncontrollably once he realized that her smiling expression was honest. "Really?"

"Of course you yutz. I've been waiting since I was five for you to say that." She dragged him down for a hug.

"That long?"

"More or less."


	3. Chapter 3

"Realistically…" She said gently.

"I don't like that word, Helga." Arnold tried to look her in the eye, but she had turned away and her face was lost to him.

Side by side, their hips still touching, Helga felt tense next to him. Her anxiety was oozing from her like waves of dark energy. The room was bright with the sunlight. It was probably four in the afternoon now. Both were seriously hungry.

"I don't know if we can do what we want, Arnold." She said. "I've got nothing, no degree, no real job. I only have a little bit of money saved."

"Well…" He wrapped an arm around her neck and drew her to his chest. He needed to think.

"I don't know what Jimmy would say." She said.

"I don't know either. Does he love you?" He found himself missing the unibrow, but when she frowned and looked up at him, he could almost see it there.

"Jimmy loves my dad, and my family…" She drew a deep breath. "We don't love each other really."

"That's all I needed to know." Arnold sprang up, startling Helga who scrambled to cover her chest with the blankets he had disturbed.

This made him laugh, and he came down on his knees again to kiss her.

"Get dressed, let's go." He said.

"What do you mean?" She sounded confused, but did as he said, carefully trying to retie her tangled hair. He put a hand on hers, and smiled, so she let it down, combing through the curls until it had calmed down a little.

He liked the way it looked, a little bushy, and thick, but it hung past her breasts when it was down, and was the perfect honey gold. She smiled when she saw him looking at her, and his heart warmed.

They rode the bus back to the city, hands clasped tightly, talking like they were kids again. Helga explained the circumstances behind her failed college attempt, Arnold admitted that he had never even tried to go to school. She showed him poetry that she had written and saved in crumpled heaps of paper in her purse. He showed her some scars, and permanent marks from his time living with his parents.

"This one was from when I slipped on a rock edge by the river, but I was holding a penknife."

She winced. "I never want to think of that again, ugh."

"Now really…" Arnold said. "What did happen to your hands?"

"I smashed a mirror up." She said. "And I held the straightener until it was too painful."

It was Arnold's turn to wince.

"Sometimes I try to feel again, but nothing ever works." She curled and uncurled her fingers and the bandages crinkled and smoothed out.

"What do you mean?" He asked. He didn't understand this girl, this Helga. The Helga he knew was tough, and witty. She could face and handle any kind of weathering, better than anyone else he knew. He had watched her face, and fight her family, stinging quietly in the shadow of her elder sister. Even under the perfect guise of Olga, Helga had been strong, content with herself. She always knew who she was and who she wanted to be.

The woman next to him had lost the flare and the wit. She felt hollowed out, like a watered-down version of her childhood self. He could remember how feisty she was before he left. He tried to recall when this change had happened; a catalogue of pictures had arrived in the mail over the years, detailing the lives of his friends. Helga never sent him anything herself, but she had shown up in the pictures over the years. Particularly, she was the star of Phoebe's photos.

When he really thought about it, Arnold could see the changes over the years. The year after he left, Helga was not present in any picture. Then, when she did reappear, her pink bow was gone, replaced by a dark knit cap. Her unique hair hung low, burned straight. She wore black, and plaid, and brown. Make up appeared and got dark and heavy. All the other girls around her changed too of course: Phoebe started smiling more—thanks to the relationship with Gerald—Lila grew her auburn-red hair out long and wore brighter colors. Even the fancy Rhonda grew even more sophisticated. She ended up the tallest of the group, with a promising career in modeling. No one was prepared when she started dating Harold.

But Helga never seemed to recover from her childhood. The moxie she had always sported was gone by the time they were seventeen, and Arnold started receiving less and less letters from his friends.

On one occasion, a letter from Phoebe arrived, asking him to contact her about something serious. But before Arnold had time to get to a working phone—there was only one that operated well enough for long distance in San Lorenzo—another letter arrived from her, ordering him to ignore the first letter.

In hindsight, he realized that this awkward event occurred about the same time as Helga's mother's death, and Phoebe was most likely reaching out for the sake of her friend. Jimmy appeared and rescued her though, before Arnold even had a chance to try.

He couldn't even be upset about it. He knew he hadn't tried to contact her. The pictures told the story enough. Helga had given up on herself. He had given up on her too.

"I think that I developed the habit of breaking things a couple years ago." Helga's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Oh?" He came back to the present.

"I liked to break things," She said. "And one day I broke a dinner plate in the sink and got a pretty bad slice. After that, it was less about breaking things and more about the way it felt to do… things."

"Right." He clenched his teeth.

"It's weird to talk about it. It's easy to just do it, but I don't like putting words to it."

"I don't like any of it at all." Arnold said, trying not to upset her, but trying to assert his feelings.

"I can't promise I will stop." She said.

"I know…" He sighed. "But we will work on it."

"Arnold, do you really want to marry me?" Her bright eyes turned up to him, and she looked fervent and terrified.

"Yes." There was no hesitation. "Of course. If you will have me."

"Yes."

For the rest of the ride, they both sat quietly again, pleased with themselves, even though they knew that hardship was waiting for them.

The very old man sitting at his breakfast table was curled like a question mark, age twisting him into this shape year by year, like a sliver of paper being burned. He was scratching his head, not to soothe, but because his hands were full of some kind of jitter because his grandson was sitting across the table from him, clutching the hands of a frightened looking girl. He knew that the girl was familiar, but she was missing very significant accessories to her being that made naming her difficult.

"Grandpa, will you be our witness?" Arnold was asking insistently, his wide eyes bouncing back and forth between Phil's and the girl's faces.

His eyes squinted and he stared at her. Her hair was the right color, but it was up in a disheveled bun. Her eyes were the right color and shape, and her nose was the spot-on snub that he could remember. The dress was the right color, and he thought he could see the slight impressions of a frown line between her thick brows.

 _That's_ what was wrong.

"Oh my…Pookie, get in here!" He yelled so suddenly that both grandson and fiancée jumped in their seats. "He finally brought his little eyebrow friend home!"

Helga blushed violently.

It was as simple as that, getting a witness, getting approval. But after that was all decided, they had to do something that wouldn't be quite as easy.

Hearts heavy in their throats, Helga and Arnold approached Helga's apartment building. It was dark now, and the evening lights on the streets did little to illuminate their way. Helga was shaking, but she led him inside, holding his hand tightly.

"He is home, you know." She said.

"I got it." He said, but felt less confident than his voice sounded.

"He won't be angry, I'm sure of it." She said.

But she struggled to unlock the door, and took a long time before she opened it. When she finally busted through, dragging Arnold behind her Jimmy was already in the front room waiting for her.

Arnold was surprised at how the man looked, even though he had seen him in pictures.

"Helga?" He had a strong voice, something like a grandfather would have, even though he was just about their age. He had tawny hair that bordered on brown, and rich olive skin. His eyes were big, blue, and covered in wire-framed glasses. Despite this, he was a well-built man, very tall and muscled. He looked like the kind of man Big Bob would like, nothing soft about him.

"Hey." Helga grunted a little, struggling to take off her shoes. Absently, Arnold leaned down to untie his, happy to have something to do in the awkwardness.

Jimmy did not wait to listen to what Helga was doing with Arnold. He didn't even need to ask who he was.

"So, Helga," Jimmy sat down on a bright blue couch, crossing his arms over his chest. "What's this?" He stood up before she could answer, and gestured for him to follow her into the bedroom. She gave one glance to Arnold who missed it since he was still untying his shoes, too slowly.

They vanished into what Arnold assumed was the bedroom, and he sat down on the blue couch where Jimmy had been sitting. He looked around the living room, trying to focus on anything but the muffled voices in the other room, but couldn't for a moment find something to keep his mind occupied.

He was finally getting his Helga. He was finally trying to make things right, and settle his stupid heart for once. But Jimmy was a force of Helga's life that he didn't recognize. What she was now was sculpted by the presence of this man in her life. This wasn't necessarily a bad thing, Jimmy had been there for her when she was at her worst. When her mom died, and when her life was falling apart. She felt like she owed him something.

Everything was riding on Jimmy in this moment, Arnold realized. Helga could decide to leave him and follow Arnold into a marriage with no real promises. Or she could stay with Jimmy, with the security and the mediocrity. But it wasn't fair of Arnold to think that, perhaps the relationship between them was mediocre. Maybe it was good, and Jimmy was helping Helga the best that he could.

Arnold didn't really know. All he knew was that he needed to wait, and let her make her choices. He had given her what he had to offer, returned after all that time. He needed to wait for her now, and let her decide.

The voices in the other room spoke softly, and he hoped it was a good sign for him. He hoped for Helga.


	4. Chapter 4

She couldn't look at him.

"Helga." His voice reminded her of sawdust and the way it feels when the bristles of a broom are swept over your feet.

"Helga, please."

She suddenly remembered that she had broken a vase once, playing with Olga of all people, when she was just three. Bob and Miriam both had been angry with that mistake because the vase had belonged to Miriam's mother. It wasn't the memory of the punishment or the yelling that she thought of now. Instead, her mind was occupied with her sister, and the way Olga had tried to defend her. Pressed up against her sister's leg when they were caught, Helga could feel for a moment what true love was.

"Helga…" Jimmy sounded ready to give up.

Before he could speak again Helga threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his skin. He made an odd sound in his throat, but wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her against his hard body so hard he may have crushed her.

"I'm so sorry." She said.

"I know." He answered, his voice lost somewhere in her hair. "I knew it would happen someday."

"You did?" She was shocked, and tried to pull out of the hug a little. He wasn't ready to let go.

"Yeah. The locket was confirmation enough."

She grew tense. Her locket. It had gone missing years ago. The last time she could remember having it was at Miriam's funeral.

When Jimmy had collected her after her fit, Helga sat curled up in his front seat holding the little locket hard. Over the years of Arnold gone, she had rarely taken it out to look anymore. What once was a daily totem that enriched her heart with passion, was now something like a vacant memory that she could hardly touch. His young face, an updated picture from Gerald was gifted every year, never changed. He was always calm, always charming. There was nothing like animosity or upset in his pictures. Helga was perpetually envious of his calm; how could she correct the disaster she was?

When Jimmy drove her home that night she had left the locket in the pocket of her skirt. After that, she couldn't find it anymore… She never thought that Jimmy might have taken it.

" _You_ have it?" She asked. She didn't even try to keep the anger out of her voice, it was a violation that he could not be forgiven for.

Jimmy sighed. The air rolled around inside him and reverberated against Helga. It chilled her neck.

"I'm sorry," He said. "I found it that night. It's not like I didn't know he existed."

Helga couldn't make a noise.

Jimmy continued, "Everyone knew that you loved him, Helga, everyone. How can I compete with that kind of love?"

"I love you too." She said, but she wasn't sure.

"Don't hurt me to make yourself feel better." He pleaded.

She stopped talking, stopped trying to think of something to say.

"I found the locket, and I didn't know what to feel. How could I keep you for myself when you loved another guy?" The sawdust in his voice thickened. "But I wanted to keep you. You needed someone, and I needed you.

"I took the locket. You were asleep, so I left the house. At first, I wanted to take it to be opened and remove the picture, but the inside had an inscription. I got a buddy of mine to pry it open and we found the love letter inside." Jimmy let her go a little so he could look at her face.

"I don't even remember what it says in there now." She said.

"Liar."

"Yeah, I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," He said. "I don't want you to feel bad about this."

"I will anyway…" She pulled away from him a little more. Although the conversation was still charged with pain and confusion, although she was prying from the inside out with turmoil, she also was imagining what to pack, and what to take so she could leave. The dream was here, Arnold was here, and she was quickly losing touch with what needed to be done.

"I have the locket, you know." He said.

"Oh…" It came out as a sigh.

Jimmy walked slowly over to his nightstand, and spent a minute or so digging through its contents. Even though they lived together for a long time, Helga never went through his things. When the locket went missing, she had searched everywhere, but never considered checking his belongings. Keeping something so precious from her seemed unreal of Jimmy. Jimmy was not the type to be jealous, not the type to care. Perhaps she had misjudged some of his feelings.

He produced the locket, just as it was years ago, Arnold's image intact and smiling ignorantly.

When she took it in her hand, she absently drew it up to her mouth, relishing the cool touch of it, like Arnold's kiss. Jimmy pushed the lamp of the nightstand.

"I never had a chance, did I" He asked. The lampshade had been glass, and it was now a shattered mess, the lightbulb cracked, and a little cloud of dust erupted around it. Everyone was startled by this reaction. Helga hoped that Arnold would stay where he was, and let her settle this, but she heard him shuffled towards the door.

"Jimmy…" She kept her voice gentle, know that Arnold was listening. "I am so sorry for everything. I have been nothing but horrible to you."

Jimmy laughed, a little strained. "No, not at all. Never horrible… We aren't right for each other."

"I wish we were."

"Liar."

"No, I do mean it. I wish I could love you like I want to. Wanting it, and doing it are two different things. There is someone else I need to be with."

"He abandoned you!" He grunted another awkward laugh. There were tears streaming down his face now, and his skin turned dusky pink.

"He needed to be with his family." She countered.

"He left you here, with Bob, with your mother… No one was there for you." He said.

"You were here," She said. "You took care of me."

"Yeah, and you never even loved me for it."

"I can't fix that, Jimmy."

"Is he going to love you better than I do?" Jimmy asked. He kicked at the pieces of the lamp on the ground.

"Probably not."

"Is he going to appreciate you like I do?"

"Not the same way."

"Is he going to make you happy? Happier than you are with me?" He looked a little feverish, the tears sparkled like diamonds in the light emanating from under the door.

"He makes me feel alive, Jimmy."

This startled him. Silence enveloped them. No one even breathed.

He crossed the dark room and stood in front of her. Her hand instinctually gripped the locket tighter in her hand. But he surprised her, leaning down to give her a soft kiss on the forehead.

"Three hours. I'm going to Teddy's. That should be enough time to get everything you need."

With her free hand, she touched his cheek, a little rough with the shadow of his beard.

"Always love you, Jimmy."

"Okay babe, you get going now. I can't have it hurting anymore." He turned and left, bumping into Arnold, who was standing by the door with nervous energy.

The two young men locked eyes for a moment, but Jimmy was coated in tears and anger, and couldn't see past the way Helga gasped when he took a strong step towards Arnold.

He left quickly, leaving the couple to breathe shaky breaths and pack whatever they could find that was Helga's. He was at Teddy's, his friends packed around him in a beer drinking, cigarette smoking circle, when they slipped away. They shoved her things in garbage bags, and grocery bags, and one old suitcase. There wasn't much to pack, so they didn't need three hours.

Jimmy gave them those hours though, and then some, because the idea of returning and finding the bed empty was something that made him sick in the stomach.

He knew this was the best, knew that Helga needed this more than she had ever needed him. He let her go, and there was a gaping hole left in her place. But in his dreams, he could see her, even years later, the girl with the shining eyes, and poetry in her skin, and love in her head and hands. She had always been totally beautiful to him, always perfect.

In high school, she was always the melancholy beauty that everyone watched and pretended not to. She was slender and small, but tough. There was a contradiction in her that was sexy to everyone, but she remained ever as she always had been. She dressed dark, talked dark, and cussed a lot. When he asked to prom she had laughed at him ecstatically. She was delirious with the joke of it all, and believed that it was nothing but a prank. Until he showed up the night of, and Phoebe squeezed her into a dress for him.

She had danced with him that night, and the whole school marveled over how he made her smile. No one saw a genuine Helga smile in a long time. On her growing face, with her growing beauty, that smile was glorious.

For the promise of that smile, Jimmy could let her go. He wished a thousand times over that that smile would appear for him. He hoped and he prayed, and he worked as much as he could, trying to give her what she wanted. He wanted Bob to let her work better jobs, but the old croak was adamant that 'the girl' should stay as janitorial staff. Some long-harbored anger about things he could never understand. Maybe Helga didn't even really know. The intricate details of families, the way things worked and didn't work, was all lost on them. They wouldn't understand, and they couldn't make themselves try.

Sometimes when he dreamed, he could see her and Arnold, clasped closely forever. Making money, or starving on a beach, they never let go.

He saw some pictures occasionally, as years slipped by softly. They made money, they worked good jobs, and had babies of their own. A little pair of twin girls, last he checked. Helga went back to school at night and they both worked for a publishing company, low level jobs for a while. But soon, they made their way up the chain.

They settled in a refurbished lighthouse outside of the city. He never saw her again, but he saw her everywhere. On the streets, and in the store; writing poetry in his bed, and sleeping on the bus.

One day, he hoped he could forget her, but for now she was there. She was an imprint burned on his heart, smiling with each of his heartbeats. Someday, he would forget her, Helga G. Pataki.


End file.
